


DIRTY THING

by Queenoftheuniverse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, bumming, slight Dom sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft takes John home and takes him apart. Not literally. In a dommy subby way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	DIRTY THING

DIRTY THING

Queenoftheuniverse

John stared across the crowded bar in surprise, noting the Iceman’s eyes as they stared back at him. Yes, for sure, the man in the tight black jeans, rough black jumper and seaman’s cap was Mycroft British Government Holmes. And he was staring at him, John Confirmed Bachelor Watson in a way that made him a bit fizzy. Weird.

Then Mycroft was walking over, dark eyes beneath the cap visor trained on John, the crowd nothing to the tall auburn haired man. They parted like chaff until his solid, masculine body was right against John. John had to put his beer on the bar lest he drop it, so unexpected was his reaction to his best friend’s brother. He clung to it though, as it gave him an anchor in this confusing new set of circumstances.

“John.” Was all The Iceman said, eyes flitting down the tight fitting white T-shirt and snug jeans the Doctor had slid into before coming out tonight. John’s mouth went dry at the intensity of those flits. And then, he took it as a challenge. Mycroft always seemed to have the upper hand. Well, this was John’s bar and flirting was John’s thing.

“Like what you see Mycroft?” he said, leaning his upper body back but making sure his mouth made it near to Mycroft’s ear. 

“I have always liked what I see in you, Doctor.” Mycroft answered, turning his head and making sure John could watch his icy eyes drop to John’s throat and then back up, perfect teeth in his plush bottom lip and then out again, the merest suggestion of a suck. John felt flushed but knew he was not blushing like a virgin. Mycroft fucking Holmes was coming onto him. And Jesus didn’t he want that. All that power and buttoned up repression. John always suspected Mycroft would go off like a fire cracker between the sheets and this may well be his lucky night to find out if this was right.

“You seem to be in the wrong place to pull Mycroft. Unless you are slumming it.” John said then, voice low and rough. This bar was filled with East End lower middle class, the sorts of people John could relax with, drink with, dance with, and fit in with. The exact opposite of the Diogenes Club that Mycroft frequented, all mahogany, silence and snifters of brandy.

“Slumming? Hardly Doctor Watson.” Mycroft said, leaning forward to press his breath to John’s ear. “I’m trolling.”

John shivered. The combination of light breath, low tone and the simple thrill of seeing this side to Mycroft had him thrumming with possibilities.

“What is your type Mister Holmes, let’s see if we can find something to your…taste.” John said, deliberately using a word with a double entendre. Taste. Yes. He’d love to taste bits of the Iceman all right.

“What I like, dear John….” Mycroft stated, stepping infinitely closer to John. John could smell him now, expensive cologne and clean soap. “…is sweet and hard and strong.”  
John all but jumped when Mycroft’s finger touched his belly, just one finger. Neither of them watched its progress, but both could feel the trail of fire it left in its wake.  
“…and obedient.” Mycroft added in a low whisper.

Fuck.

Jesus fuck and damn. 

John swayed, hand dropping from the beer to the edge of the bar to keep himself upright. All blood had suddenly gone south and he could not think, he could only want with such a keenness his vision tunneled.

How…how did that bastard know..?

“Come home with me John. Trust me. You will find it delightful.” Mycroft said, leaning down to almost nuzzle at Johns neck. John’s brain whimpered and he had to swallow his own saliva to make sure the sound stayed put. “Let me do dirty things to your lovely body, allow me the privilege of taking over your wonderfully stoic mind, and most of all….give yourself to me. I want you Doctor Watson. Let me have you.”

John swallowed again, closing his eyes, and then he was speaking before the words even formed in his brain.

“Yes. All right. But now, we leave now…”

“Now would be perfect John.” Mycroft agreed, and he took Johns elbow to steer him with unseemly haste out of the bar, into the street, where one of his cars was waiting.

#  
Mycroft took John’s mouth in the car. Kissed him furiously, tasting of brandy, and John gave a muffled cry of surprise. Mycroft straddled him, looming, using his bulk to shove the smaller man against the plush back of the car seat and just…took what he wanted, John’s mouth.

Heat rushed to Johns face and he kissed back, heated and filthy, his jaw working and his tongue snaking into Mycroft’s lush mouth. He moaned and gasped and breathed heavily through his nose as Mycroft’s hands wandered up under his tight T-Shirt. It was too fast and not fast enough. 

Mycroft pinched his nipples, hard, causing John’s eyes to roll, and his body to push into the pain and kiss Mycroft headier. Mycroft barely contained a shiver of delight. Most boys by now were whinging that it hurt and not to be so rough and drop them off at the next corner. Not John Watson. He was heated and pliant and all but begging to be hurt, taken, claimed and used.

Mycroft could not believe his sodding luck! This perfect fit of a boy had been there at Baker Street all that time, a sexy little thing in knitted jumpers and sensible shoes, with an underused masso streak a mile wide. 

“Oh Doctor Watson, I am going to hurt you so badly…” he whispered into John’s begging mouth and was pleased to hear an answering desperate moan.

‘Yes, please, hurt me…” John breathed, arching his back and baring his throat in submission. “Christ yes Mycroft…tear me to bits…”

Mycroft’s vision paled and he thanked every God he could think of that this boy had come into Sherlock’s life and, by proxy, Mycroft’s lusty clutches.

#

“Open your eyes for me now John, and look…”

Johns half opened eyes took in the sight before him, but only because Mycroft had told him to. He knew what he would see but was still struck speechless at the raw sexuality of it. He could hardly believe this trussed up, naked, wanton thing in the mirror was himself, but it was. It was John “In Control” Watson with his back held to Mycroft’s chest, legs spread over Mycroft’s lap, Mycroft’s own knees keeping him from closing them. He was totally at the mercy of The Iceman and his softly commanding voice, had been since the second they had closed the door to the car and had moved off into the night.

John moaned as Mycroft’s leather gloved hand slid over his panting chest, caressing the pale skin of John’s throat. John’s arms were strapped behind him at the wrists, elbows and upper arms with soft leather belts and shiny silver buckles, making it impossible to move his arms at all. He’d struggled, at first, but Mycroft had all the control of course.

John was naked, his cock hard and pink and wet against his belly. Mycroft had merely removed his own hat and jumper, had undone his shirt to leave it open but still on. His hard nipples and soft chest hairs dragged over the back of John’s strapped arms and the juxtaposition of nude to dressed was as sexy as it was uneven.

Mycroft had further undone John by putting on gorgeous leather gloves and then one of the sexiest things John had ever seen: A pure black, shiny latex sheath that fit Mycroft’s fat cock like it had been poured onto it. It had jutted, obscenely beautiful, from Mycroft’s slumming jeans and had made John quiver.

It was specifically this sheath that Mycroft wanted John to see, hence the order for John to open his eyes, to look at them in the huge mirror Mycroft had put before his massive bed.

“Watch me take you John.” Mycroft whispered into John’s ear, not looking into the mirror himself, eyes totally on the pulse in John’s neck. “Look at my cock sliding up into you, filling you.”

John moaned again. That perfect shiny black sheath covered cock was indeed sliding into his well prepared and lubed arse, breaching a hole that had been wetly fingered open, long and thick and disappearing up behind John’s rock hard balls as it rippled deep inside him.

“Chrissssst…” John breathed, head falling back onto Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft took advantage of this and lightly bit and sucked at John’s already teeth-ravaged neck. John responded by rutting his hips, just gently, but wantonly, needing Mycroft’s full fat cock to fuck him harder. Mycroft had manhandled him deftly in the car and roughly in the bedroom but oh, John needed savage now, he needed animal and filthy and nasty and-

“Mycroft, pleeeese….” He hissed, arching himself and trying to get Mycroft’s delicious prick deeper inside his wet and willing hole. Mycroft responded by closing one leather gloved hand over Johns exposed throat and holding tight. John groaned.

“Mycroft please…please, I need you to…..oh my God…”

He could not finish that thought because now Mycroft’s other gloved hand had snaked down to take hold of John’s furiously hard cock. The feel of those leather fingers around his fevered flesh caused John to actually keen with want and slam himself down on Mycroft’s cock.

Mycroft clamped down on John then, holding him in place with teeth and arms and leathered hands. John could not move and Mycroft was growling, fist-fucking John’s desperate cock and sucking at John’s tender flesh and John could feel blood and skin and sweat come to the surface.

“Oh Christ oh Christ oh Christ...” John panted, his hips still trying valiantly to move. “Fuck, Mycroft, please, fuck me fuck me fuck me...”

Mycroft growled then, leaning back and taking Johns pliant body with him.

Then he rammed up in earnest into John’s hot, tight arse, grazing the poor doctors swollen and tortured prostate until John was screaming with each rabid shove, begging and crying, sobbing with pain that became pleasure and pleasure that morphed into pain that in itself was all consuming pleasure.

Mycroft was grunting, actually grunting like an animal into John’s neck, clamping his fingers along John’s throat until John’s pulse was singing in desperation for blood and air. Darkness began to cloud John’s mind and he had never been so close to passing out from ecstasy before. He was just a hole, a pink wet hole for Mycroft to slake his animal lust in and John found this realisation made him scream Mycroft’s name and come and come from the very depths of his soul.

Not three thrusts later Mycroft ripped his mouth from Johns throat and howled, his hips spasming up, ramming his huge cock deep inside John as he came, barley aware that John had swooned against him, hole still stuttering around Mycroft’s jutting cock.

Mycroft was actually swearing, and calling to God as he came. He had known John would do as he was told but the sweet innocence of his obedience had jangled Mycroft’s nerves until he was almost lost.

“John, God, fuck, my John, oh fuck fuck fuck…!” and then he was voiceless and coming and all was white and heat and smell of hot come spurting from Johns cock and landing fuck knew where and it was hedonistic and glorious and the very end of clear thought….  
#


End file.
